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THE SHARING 



AGNES LEE 




BOSTON : SHERMAN, FRENCH 
4- COMPANY : MDCCCCXIV 






Copyright, 1914 \ » 



Sherman, French & Company 



NOV 30 1914 

©CI,A387748 



For kind permission to reprint The 
Sharing, The Silent House and two lyrics 
thanks are due to The Editor of Poetry^ 
and for other poems in this collection to 
the Editors of The North American Re- 
view, Harper's Weekly, The Bookman, 
The Bellman, The Poetry Journal, The 
Youth's Companion, The Christian Reg- 
ister, Lippincotfs, The Independent and 
The Lyric Year. 

A word as to The Silent House. I was 
sitting with my friend, J. I., before her 
hospitable fire. As the rain beat against 
the windows, she told me in a few words a 
day-dream she often had, of a soul seeking 
its lover through the storm. I urged her 
to write it into a story. But she never 

did, and when I referred to the subject 
afterward she w ould say : " No — you 
must make a poem of it sometime." 
About three years after her own gleaming 
soul had taken its way through the un- 
known, thoughts and lines began to take 
form in my mind, and The Silent House 
came to me. A. L. 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

THE SHARING 1 

THE SILENT HOUSE 9 

A STATUE IN A GARDEN 21 

A ROMAN DOLL 22 

SONG OF A QUEEN OF LOMBARDY . 24 

— THE LAST HOME 25 

THE LAKE WILL SING 26 

THE DRUDGE 27 

A CRY TO LANDECK 28 

NUMBERS 29 

— THE PROTEST 31 

A LEGEND OF THE LAKE .... 33 

ON THE JAIL STEPS 36 

HER GOING 37 

A PEASANT OF ASSISI 40 

FOREST FIRES 42 

THE OLD IROQUOIS 44 

DICKENS 45 

WAGNER 48 

—TO A POET 49 

THE SPIRIT OF A CHILD .... 50 

CHRISTMAS VOICES 53 

CLOUD AND FLOWER 54 

THE SECRET 55 

TO A GARRULOUS FRIEND .... 56 

A SONG OF TIME 57 

TWO HOUSES 58 

THE LOST RITUAL 59 

LOVE'S VOICE 60 



PAGE 

RADIUM 61 

RESEARCH 62 

VICTORY QS 

A SONG 64 



THE SHARING 



THE SHARING 

Martin works in the garden. Stephana 
comes from the cottage door. Upon a bench 
under the eaves are ranged three very small 
wooden cages, of the sort used hy bird-sellers 
for their stock in trade. 

Stephana 
At last a holiday [ And my heart sings ! 
Come, father, take your leisure. 
I brought the birds outside to preen their wings 
And have a bit of pleasure. 

Martin 
Twelve sold within a week. And that is well. 

Stephana 
And these? 

Martin [Aside^ 

She never tires 
Of birds and birds! Whoever may foretell .^^ 
[Aloud^ 

Stephana 

0, O, the silly buyers ! — 

1, keeping back my dearest three, and you 
Praising, persuading, driving 

Your bargain, all as if you never knew. 
Yet in your soul conniving. [They laugh'\ 

[1] 



[Soberly] 
No more shall come to buy. And that's my 
dream. 

Martin 

The sun is on the hedges. 

Stephana 
How all the little upward petals gleam ! 

Martin 
Look, there, along the ledges. 
Comes wandering a worn and meager man ! 
He's in the road. . . . He's turning! 

Stephana 
Perhaps a beggar from the caravan 
That kept me from my churning. 
We cannot heed so many passing here. 

Martin 
Now see him bend and falter 
And shuffle in his gait. . . . Yet, coming near. 
He seems to loom and alter. . . . 
He is even young. 

Stephana 

No, no, his hair is gray . . . 
He's reached the stile. . . . He's over. 

[2] 



Martin 

He has a word for us. He walks our way 

Across the field of clover. . . . 

Where do you come from, melancholy guest .f* 

The Stranger 

Out of the dark of sorrow. 

They said it wm the east, it was the west. 

And there was no to-morrow. 

Stephana 
The birds are fluttering. 

The Stranger 

Birds.? Birds? 

Stephana 

O look, 
The 3^ellow, bright canaries ! 
They tide the dailiness of this dull nook. 
They are my gentle fairies. 
For father teaches at the village school, 
And I'm forlorn and lonely 
Except for these, my heartlings beautiful. 
All would be happy . . . only . . . 
When they begin to love me, off they go. 

The Stranger 
The price, the price, forever. 

[3] 



Martin i 

For all, the price is all the hand may show. 
We may be fools, or clever, — 
It is the earthly cry of everyone. 

The Stranger I 

Poor birds ! No songs embolden 

Their little breasts. Their eyes forget the sun. 

Stephana 
But they are soft and golden. 

The Stranger , 

The narrow cells ! I 

I 
Stephana j 

i 

Yes, these are narrow homes. j 

But many are no wider. \ 

The Stranger I 

His houses He has made with azure domes, ! 

The bountiful Provider. j 

I 
Stephana ^ 

Dread of my heart, the sign is on his brow ! 

He'll buy them. He uncreases 

The twisted kerchief. On the settle now 

Fall out his silver pieces ! ' 

[4] 



Martin [Whispering to Stephana^ 
You'll have a bit of satin home to try. 

The Stranger 
The birds are bonny, bonny. 
Take all I have — give me what it will buy. 

Stephana 
Father ! Forego the money ! 

Martin 
Now leave me to my bargain. You shall see — 
You'll have a rosy fillet. 

Stephana 
Father? 

jNIartin 

Good stranger, they are yours, all three. 

The Stranger 
Mine. Nothing shall outwill it. 

Stephana 
But O, whatever is your good of them? 

The Stranger 

Why, look you, Blossom-Lady : — 

Come, Yellow-Throaty come. Puff, and Speckle- 
Gem, 

Come, leave your dwellings shady! 

[S] 



Hop\ One, 
Forth of your door. 
Fearing no more. 
Wing to the sun! 

Hop, Two! 
Sidle not so. 
Hasten to know. 
Summer is new. 

Three, up! 
Scatter the dim. 
Fly to the rim 
Of the sun's cup! 

They are out and away 

Over hedge, over hay. 

Over hill, over stone 

They have flashed, they have flown. 

They have winged, they have won! 

There is gold in the sun! 



Martin 
Stop grieving, girl. Your tears are no amends. 

Stephana 
Gone, gone, my sweet companions ! 

[6] 



The Stranger 
Freedom is worth the price of tears. Now, 

friends, 
I'm off to heights and canyons. 

Stephana 
Ah, they will die out ^^onder, far and high, 
The sport of wind and shadow! 

The Stranger 
And that is where God's creatures ought to die. 

Martin 
Plague on his fine bravado ! 

And yet the birds were his. He paid the score. 
Let the foolhardy ranger 
Go follow them. 

Stephana 

Go ! Go ! — but not before 
I have your why, dark stranger! 

The Stranger 
I was their fellow, in my cage apart. 
Bom of a world's blaspheming. 
I served my term, without a dream at heart. 
Save this one song of dreaming: 

If ever you shall he, m^n. 
Where the leaves blow. 
Make, as you go. 
Fettered wings free, man! 
[7] 



My cage was opened, and I left the blight 
The weary darkness leavens. 
But, free at last, I could not face the light, 
Till I could share the heavens. 



[8] 



THE SILENT HOUSE 

A late afternoon in autumn. The cottage 
living-room of a scholar. The windows at the 
back look through a wood to the waters of a 
wide lake. David is sitting before the fire, his 
head bowed low over a crumpled letter in his 
hand. 

David 

How may a letter bring such darkness down! 

[He reads from the letter^ 
Corinna dallies with your faith too long. 
And my word is the word of all the town: 
She has no soul, no soul, /or all her song! 
Why is it men like you would always mate 
With little hearts that never comprehend? 
She may not take your measure nor your 

weight. 
Yet holds you hers to harrow to the end. 
You ask me if I see her. Many a night 
For many an hour Vve seen her. David, man, 
I wish that you had watched her with my sight. 
She led the dance, she led the caravan 
Of arbiters who came to hear her sing. 
Wine to her head was their too eager praise. 
She circled round within a fiery ring. 
And flashed the brighter out of every blaze. 
But since the last bethronged levee, they say, 

[9] 



Her doors have opened unto none. A chill. 
Some whisper, some, that she has gone away. 

[With an impatient gesture he throws the let- 
ter into the fire, and watches it burn. A long 
pause. He looks up, musing.^ 

And empty is the house upon the hill. 
O, it was there she found her quiet best ! 
Why will she never know it, and return 
To one who calls her from her far unrest 
To look on silver lake, on flower and fern? 

[Dreamily^ 
O, for her nearness at the sunset's fire, 
To walk with her beneath perpetual trees, 
To share with her a stillness, to inspire 
The ardour in her eyes no other sees ! 

Martha [Entering with flowers^ 

Sir, I have brought you flaming bergamot 

And early asters for your window-sill. 

And where I found them.'^ Now you'll guess it 

not. 
I found them in the meadow by the hill. 
And gathered till my arms could hold no more. 

David 
The meadow of the little silent house ! 



[10] 



Martha 

The city lured her from her viny door. 
But see, the flowers have stayed. 

David 

They seem to drowse 
And dream of one they lost, a paler-blown. 

Martha 

Then up I went, close by the house. The blinds 

Are fast of late, and all are intergrown 

With weedy havoc tossed by searching winds. 

David 

How somber suddenly the sky ! A shower 
Is in the air. 



Martha 



David 



I'll light the lamps. 



Not yet. 
Leave me the beauty of the twilit hour. 

Martha \^At the windowl 

Hear the wind rising ! How the moorings fret ! 
More than a simple shower is on its way. 
I would not be aboard of yonder ship, 
Hunted and hammered in the angry spray. 

[11] 



look, O look, O see it turn and dip ! 

The helpless thing heads blindly on its course. 
Now it goes plunging, half by water veiled. 
Now it goes rearing, like a frightened horse. 

David 

What craft is this, and from what harbour 
sailed ? 

1 can see figures. 

Martha 
David 



Can 3^ou see a light? 



Now I see nothing. All is overcast. 

Ah, many a ship must plow the wave to-night! 

Martha 
God help the ships, the ships ! No light. No 

mast. 
A dim gray doom has swallowed up all space. 
God save the ships, the ships, from the gale's 

mark ! 

[She goes o«i] 

David 

Corinna ! Now I may recall her face. 
It is my light to think by in the dark. . . . 
Yes, all my years of study, all the will 
Tenacious to achieve, the tempered strife, 

[12] 



The victories attained through patient skill, 

Lie at the door of one dear human life. 

And yet . . . the letter ... O, to break a 

spell 
Wherein the stars are crumbling unto dust ! 
There never was a hope, I know it well. 
And struggle on, and love because I must. . . . 

Never a hope? Shall ever any scheme, 
Her silence, or alarm of written word. 
Or voiced asseveration, shake my dream? 
She loves me. By love's anguish, I have heard ! 
We two from our soul-towers across a vale 
Are calling each to each, alert, aware. 
Shall one of us one day the other hail. 
And no reply be borne upon the air? 
Corinna, come to me, my power, my breath, 

come to me, Beloved and Besought, 
Over grief, gladness, — even over death ! 

For I could greet your phantom, so it brought 
Love's own reality ! . . . 

[There is a faint strain of sang without. He 
listens^ 

A song of hers 
Seems striving, striving, a faint villanelle 
Half smothered by the gale's mad roisterers. 

1 heard her sing it once in Bracken Dell. 



[13] 



Here is the rain against the window beating 
In heavy drops that presage wilder storm. 
The lake is lost within a lurid sheeting. 
The house upon the hill has changed its form. 
The melancholy pine-trees weep in rocking. 
And what's that clamour at the outer door? 
Martha ! O Martha ! Somebody is knocking ! 

Martha lRe-entering~\ 
You hear the rills that down the gutters roar. 

David 

The door! I'll go myself. You're deaf to it. 
[^Hurrying to the door^ 
This is no night to leave a man outside. 

Martha \_Muttering~\ 

And is it I am going deaf a bit, 
And blind a bit, with other ill-betide! 
Well, I can see to thread a needle, still. 
And I can hear the ticking of the clock, 
And I can fetch a basket from the mill. 
But hallow me if ever I heard knock ! 

[^David has thrown open the door. He starts 
forward, stretching out his arms^ 

David 

[Coming back into the room, as if drawing 
someone with him] 

[14] 



Corinna! You, Corinna! Drenched and cold! 
At last, at last I But how in all the rain ! 
Martha t 

{^Martha stands motioTilesSy unseeing^ 
Good Martha, you are growing old. 
Draw fast the shades. Shut out the hurricane. 
Here, take the dripping cloak out of the room. 
Bring cordial from the purple damson pressed, 
And light the lamps, the candles. Fire the 

gloom. 
Why do you mutter? Woman, here's a guest. 

Martha 

You opened wide the door. In came the storm. 
But there was not a step upon the sill. 
All the black night let in no living form. 
I see no guest. Look hard, sir, as I will, 
I see none here but you and my poor self. 

David 

The room that was my mother's room prepare. 
Spread out warm garments on the broad oak 

shelf,— 
Her gown, the little shawl she used to wear. 

[Martha, wide-eyed, bemldered, lights the 
lamps and comedies and goes out, raising her 
hands~\ 



[15] 



CORINNA 

The moments I may tarry fade and press. 
Something impelled me to you, some clear flame. 
They said I had no soul, O David, yes, 
They said I had no soul ! And so I came. 
I have been singing, singing all the way. 
Singing since everywhere the darkness grew 
And I grew chill and followed the small ray. 
Lean close, and let my longing rest in you ! 

David 
Corinna, child, I never thought to win 
Out of the silence and the futile throbbing. 
How did you know the sorrow I was in? 

Corinna 
A flock of leaves went sobbing, sobbing, sob- 
bing. 

David 
The dear old days, they have come back again. 

Corinna 
They have come back to slip away forever. 

David 
They have come back bearing some old, old pain 
Mixed in a cup of joy. Now let us sever 
The cup! At last let only happiness 
Be import of the hour! You love me? 

[16] 



CORINNA 

Dear, 

I love you, love you. 

David 

Little did we guess 
Love would come back like this, — I, dreaming 

here. 
My heart a shaken storm, — the storm without 
Shaken, shaken, — you, lightning of two storms. 

CORINNA 

David, your long misery and doubt! 

David 
They are the past. Let go the shadowy forms. 

CORINNA 

No, — show me all the shadows. 

David 

At first, alone, 

1 went about lost in a haze of you. 

Ah, nights there were with every hour a stone, 
When my despair made nothing great seem 

true ! 
But you would enter darkness like a dove. 
I heard your voice, and I could make it say 
The little words that bring the notes I love. 

[17] 



CORINNA 

You felt me loving you. 

David 

Then came the sway 
Of other thoughts. How often we have read 
How love relumes the flowers and the trees ! 
And all my world was newly garmented: 
Rewards seemed slight, and slighter penalties. 
Daily companionship was more and more. 
To make one path of hope more viable, 
To lift one load, was worth the heart's outpour. 
And you, you had made all things wonderful. 

CORINNA 

I have come back to you. 

David 

My love, my own, 
My festival upleaping from an ember 1 
But, timid child, how could you come alone 
Across the trackless woods? 

CORINNA 

Do you remember.? — 
Over the summer lake one starry, stilly. 
Sweet night, when you and I were drifting, 

dear, 
I frighted at the shadow of a lily ! 
It is all strange, but now I have no fear. 

[18] 



David 

And you, do you remember? — After we 
Had pulled the boat ashore, with some new 

might 
I held you close. By the moon I could see 
Your lips were white with love. Now they are 

white. 
But O, your eyes are weary 1 Sleep, then, 

sleep. 

CORINNA 

I must go over to the silent house. 

David 

The dwelling stands forsaken up the steep. 
With never beast nor human to arouse. 

CORINNA 

My house is waiting for me on the hill. 
There in an upper room the rising sun 
Shall see strange fingers plying, deft and still, 
Drawing the thread in linen newly spun. 
Soon shall the windows gleam with lamps. Now 

hark. 
Hark, — heavy wheels are toiling to the north ! 

David 
I will go with you, child, into the dark. 

[19] 



CORINNA 

Strong arms are in the storm to bear me forth. 

David 

Not in these garments dripping as the trees ! 
Not in these clinging shadows ! 

CORINNA 

Ah, good-night! 
Dear love, dear love, I must go forth in these. 
To-morrow jou shall see me all in white. 



[20] 



A STATUE IN A GARDEN 

I WAS a goddess ere the marble found me. 

Wind, wind, delay not, 
Waft my spirit where the laurel crowned me ! 

Will the wind stay not? 

Then tarry, tarry, listen, little swallow, — 

An old glory feeds me: 
I lay upon the bosom of Apollo! 

Not a bird heeds me. 

For here the days are alien. O, to waken 

Mine, mine, with calling! 
But on my shoulders bare, like hopes forsaken, 

The dead leaves are falling. 

The sky is gray and full of unshed weeping, 

As dim down the garden 
I wait and watch the early autumn sweeping. 

The stalks fade and harden. 

The souls of all the flowers afar have rallied. 

The trees, gaunt, appalling, 
Attest the gloom, and on my shoulders pallid 

The dead leaves are falling. 



[21] 



A ROMAN DOLL ^ 

\ 

(In a Museum) ' 

How an image of paint and wood j 

Leaped to her life with a love's control, ] 

Struck the chords of her motherhood, j 

Passionate little mother-soul ! I 

Fair to her sight were the stolid eyes, ] 

Dear to her toil the robes empearled. < 

She crooned it the ancient lullabies. '. 

She gathered it close from the outer world. i 

They watched together as Nero's pyres j 

Fed the haze of a hundred fires. ; 

I 

She hore me fresh on her fresh young arm. \ 

See, I am small, j 

Only a doll. I 

But keeping her kiss I keep her charm. \ 

Long and lonely the toy has lain. 

One by one into time's abyss I 

Years have dropped as the drops of rain. ' 

Yet the cycles have left us this ! ! 

red-lipped mother, O mother sweet. 
To-day a sister has heard you call ! 

Your heart is beating in her heart-beat. j 

1 saw her weep o'er the crumbling doll. | 
She knew, she knew. You had lived and smiled ! 

You had loved your dream, little Roman child 1 i 

[22] j 



She bore me fresh on her fresh young arin. 

See, I am smalls 

Only a doll. 

But keeping her kiss I keep her charm. 



[23] 



SONG OF A QUEEN OF LOMBARDY 

Only an hour, and his heart was heating. 
Now he laughs in a ghostly sheeting, 
Stilkin his dream the sin repeating. 

Sea, sea, 

Quiet me. 

Wash off my crown and my dress. 

Throw the weight of your wave, 

Cover me with forgetfulness 

And let me sleep in my grave ! 

This is the night the trees were shaken. 
This is the night of the souls forsaken. 
This is the night he shall not waken. 

Sea, sea. 

Quiet me. 

Cool of the infinite, 

Over my forehead roll ! j 

Bury my body's hands of white, ^ 

And the crimson hands of my soul ! 



[24] 



THE LAST HOME 

Apart I lie, below the pulsing crowd, 

In the last home at last. 
Ah well, in the old days I have been proud I 

Now meekness holds me fast. 

I have been friend to potency and fame. 

Fair coins my face enring. 
Once to my hearth a lordly prgetor came. 

And once an Orient king. 

They left their pearls upon my brow elate, 

Their opals on my breast. 
But now in my humility I wait 

To house a meaner guest. 

Then, little worm, come in, ere time dispraise 

The perfect flower it bore. 
Ah yes, I have been proud in the old days ! 

But I am proud no more. 



[25] 



THE LAKE WILL SING 

How sweet within the dark to lie 
And listen on the dune 
When the lake's giant lullaby 
Went leaping to the moon ! 

The winter with its icy rule 
Enchained it fast and long. 
The silver sleep was beautiful, 
But O, there was no song! 

Now spring has touched it to awake. 
The sky, forever true, 
Is calling down in blue. The lake 
Is answering in blue. 

The wavelets, gleaming choristers, 
Come rallying in white. 
The bond is rent, the balm recurs, 
The lake will sing to-night! 



[26] 



THE DRUDGE 

Soul, what has her soul to say 
At the fall of twilight's umber? 
Solitude and workaday 
And with all a little slumber. 

In the house, yet of it not, 
Never an existence sharing. 
Given meekness for her lot, 
Or a fee to be forbearing. 

Bounded, sad and growing old, 
By dim walls, a tile, a rafter. 
Never to herself to hold 
Any ray of the moon's laughter ; 

Never even time to know 
Comfort of the Scythe, befriending, 
Calling: "Dream and work I mow. 
All shall have a level ending, — 

" Stubble, stubble, — weed and grain, 
Lily-pride and nettle-shadow, 
All that ever shall remain. 
Of the universal meadow. 

" What avails it luck should cast 
Little wage or wealth beholden? 
Levelled stalks are all at last, 
Martyr gray, Bacchante golden ! " 
[27] 



A CRY TO LANDECK 

SISTERS of Landeck, where flows the wild 

river, 
The turbulent river of sunshine and gloam, 
Beseech our dear mother from grief to deliver 
A heart that is weary for her and for home! 

1 long for my Tyrol, the land I love best, 
And the roar of the rapids to lull me to rest. 

I dream but of Landeck. And always in dream 
A crystal that shone through her waters I clasp. 
It was April, when flower and brake were 

agleam. 
Before the tall stranger came down from Ta- 

rasp. 
Now lost is the light of the crystalline star. 
Despair is beside me. My Tyrol is far. 

O do you not hear how I'm calling and calling? 
Beseech our dear mother take one to her breast 
Whose hour is past when the mad tears were 

falling. 
Whose eyes will not weep now, whose brain will 

not rest. 
My Tyrol! My Tyrol! It's there I could 

weep. 
With the roar of the rapids to lull me to sleep. 



[28] 



NUMBERS 

Numbers are so much the measure Qf every thing that 
is valuable that it is not possible to demonstrate the suc- 
cess of any action or the prudence of any urulertakiny 
without them. 

Steele, Spectator, No. 174. 

In all they brood, 

The inexorable I 

Out of primeval shadow have they stood 

In judgment over all. 

They brook not, these. 

Earth's gainsay, nor the sea's, 

Arbiters of our more, our less. 

Our nothingness. 

Apart, a few. 

They merge, divide. 

Or, gathering in multitudes anew 

Spread forth in armies wide. 

Their ancient law 

Still rules a world of awe, 

Bids science halt or onward fare. 

Bids art beware. 

Fact's owTi they are. 

Yet, counselling dream. 

Bright wings for thought's invasion of 

a star, 
Fins for the diver's gleam, 

[29] 



Unerring eyes i 

To pierce the mysteries 

Bedded within the rocky core 

Of nfountains hoar. I 

With lamps upheld, j 

Austere and strong j 

They wait behind the Muses. Sun-im- 
pelled ' 
Apollo their fleet throng 

Never outruns. j 

They guard a million suns 1 — ■ 

Mindful to mould a sapling's grace, ' 

A lily's face. i 

i 
They forge the curse 

Of ways unlit. ! 

They are the heartbreak of the universe. 
They are the joy of it. 

Unseeing we pass i 

Their pattern in the grass. I 

But we are theirs, and they defy i 

Eternity. | 



[30] 



THE PROTEST 

She thought the world was weary-old. 

She thought that she was young. 

The tale of April was retold 

On every violet's tongue. 

And yet, amid the rushing by, 

The comrades she had known 

Were seldom, and she wondered why, 

Sitting at dusk, alone. 

" I'm young ! " she said. " But all is cold. 
The world has grown so weary-old." 

The children told of bird and croft 

More loudly, at her ear. 

Once she had heard a whisper soft ! 

But she could only hear 

The harshness of the effort, now. 

That hid the love behind. 

And went her way, and wondered how 

The world had grown less kind. 

It came to pass, it came to pass : 
Ah ! Someone looked into the glass. 

Her soul was drenched in tears to trace 
(She thought that she was young) 
Her very form, her very face, 

[31] 



But in a veil that clung, — 
The filaments of time and care! 
The colours, where were they? 
She saw dim eyes and faded hair 
And freshness fallen away. 

" It was not I ! " she said. " Alas, 
Who was it looked into the glass ? " 



[32] 



A LEGEND OF THE LAKE 

The air was luminous and soft, 
The fleecy clouds were high aloft. 

A score of women, so they tell, 
Chatted and laughed before night fell. 

Out in a boat that grounded lay 
Louise had toiled the livelong day. 

Giving them back no laugh again. 
Sewing the sails for the fishennen. 

Beside her was her little boy, 
Dandling a painted wooden toy. 

And all the day as she sewed she sang — 
Over the pebbles the cadence rang : — 

Needle and pall, needle and pall. 
These are the dream and the end of all. 

The women felt the gathering gales. 
They called : " Louise ! Come leave your 
sails ! 

" Up with your child, and hurry along ! 
Hark! Will you never hush your song?" 

[33] 



She heard, and called : " What coward flees 
Before a little summer breeze? " 

" Come in, come in," the women cried, 

" O see the clouds ! How dark they ride ! " 

" Then run," she cried. " Who fears may go. 
I've still a long, long seam to sew ! " 

They called : " Quick, for your child's sweet 

sake! 
There's a new madness in the lake ! " 

Called she: " Though demons dark the sun, 
I'll stay and see my task well done ! " 

The wind bore down with mocks and moans. 
But a voice rang clear, across the stones: 

Needle and pall, needle and pall. 
And Caspar kissed his wooden doll. 

Then up there leaped the billows hoar. 
And lashed the boat from the sandy shore. 

And Caspar's laughter w^ildly broke. 
He thought it was a merry joke. 

As on and on they drifted out. 

Till rain-sheets curtained them about. 

[34] 



Ah, none shall fair Louise forget ! 
The fishers sought, are seeking yet, 

While many a tale their tongues aver: 
They say a cloud upgathered her; 

They say the waters whelmed her down 
Straight outward of her native town ; 

They say that on a shore afar 

She sews her sails where the dim folk are, 

Where little Caspar silently 
Dandles a doll upon his knee ; 

They say that sometimes from somewhere 
A song goes faintly on the air: 

Needle and pall, needle and pall. 

These are the dream and the end of all. 



[35] 



ON THE JAIL STEPS 

I've won the race. 
Young man, I'm new. 
Old Sallow-face, 
Good luch to you! 

I've turned about, 
And paid for sin. 
And you come out 
As I go in. 

Ten years ! But mark, 
I am free, free ! 
Ten years of dark 
Shall gather me. 

My wifel Long-while 
She wept her pain. 
There is no smile. 
She weeps again. 

My little one 
Shall know my call. 
Child is there none. 
For sin grows tall. 

Now who are you. 
Spar of hell's flood? 
And who, and who. 
But your own blood? 
[36] 



HER GOING 

The Wife 

Child, why do you linger beside her portal? 
None shall hear you now if you knock or 

clamour. 
All is dark, hidden in heaviest leafage. 
None shall behold you. 

Truth 

Gone, alas, the dear, the beautiful lady ! 

I, her comrade, tarry but to lament her. 

Ah, the day she vanished did all things lovely 

Share in her fleetness t 

Tell me her going. 

The Wife 

You are a child. How tell you? 

Truth 

Child I am, yet old as the earliest sorrow. 
Talk to me as you would to an old, old woman. 
Mine are the ages. 

The Wife 

Voices, they say, gossiped around her dwelling. 
She awoke, departing, they say, in silence. 
Glad I am she is gone. The old hurt fastens. 
Hate is upon me. 

[37] 



Hard it was to live down the day, and wonder, 
Wonder why the tears were forever welling, 
Wonder if on his lips her kiss I tasted, 
Turning to claim him. 

Truth 

Jealousy, mad, brooding blind and unfettered. 
Takes its terrible leap over lie and malice. 
Who shall question her now in the land of 

shadow ? 
Who shall uphold her? 

The Wife 

Hard it was to know that peace had forsaken 
All my house, to greet with a dull endeavour 
Babe or book, so to forget a moment 
I was forgotten. 

Truth 

Who shall question her now in the land of 
shadow. 

Question the mute pale lips, and the marble fin- 
gers. 

Eyelids fallen on eyes grown dim as the autumn ? 

Ah, the beloved! 

The Wife 
Go, go, bringer of ache and discord ! 

[38] 



Truth 
Go I may not. Some, they think to inter me. 
Out of the mould and clay my visible raiment 
Rises forever. 

The Wife 
Hers the sin that lured the light from our 

threshold. 
Hers the sin that I lost his loA^e and grew bitter. 

Truth 
Lost his love? You never possessed it, woman. 

The Wife 
Sharp tongue, have pity ! . . . 

Yes, I knew. But I loved him, hoping for all. 
I said in my heart : " Time shall bring buds 

to blossom." 
Almost I saw the flower of the flame descending. 
Then — she came toying. 

He is mine, mine, by the laws of the ages ! 
Mine, mine, mine, yes, body and spirit ! 
Glad I am she has gone her way to the shadow. 
Hate is upon me. 

O, the bar over which my soul would see 
All that eludes my soul, while he remembers! 
You, dispel if you can my avenging passion, — 
Clouds are before me ! 

[39] 



A PEASANT OF ASSISI 

The sun that traced of old the Umbrian Friars 

Hung saffron in the mist of eventide. 

The Angelus from a far tower had told 

Its rosary of sounds and silences. 

I wandered where the purple winding valley, 

Steeped in a bloom of seven hundred years, 

Still breathes so gently of Assisi's power 

That I, to-day's deserter, went half watchful 

At any little turning of a hill 

To come upon the hooded Saint himself 

In some sweet colloquy with bird or beast. 

O purple winding valley, saffron sun 

And silver thoughts ! And now, at the path's 

edge, 
Outgleaming from a shadow, rose a shrine. 
Beneath whose ancient ark a streamlet ran 
Along a dip of moss-enamelled stones. 
Within a field a taw^ny peasant youth 
Stood leaning on his hoe, content from toil. 
And at my beck he dropped his hoe and has- 
tened. 
And, as I questioned of the place, his eyes 
Grew soft, his answer coming clear, and eager 
With repetition of the names he loved. 

THE LEGEND 

Lady, hither to this nook one noonday 
Blessed Francis walked with Brother Leo. 
[40] 



All the sky was fire that scorched the flowers. 
Brother Leo lagged behind, entreating: 
"01 am forspent ! O find me water I 
Verily my thirst has overtried me ! " 
But the land was parched and stream-forsaken, 
And upon the ground the weary-hearted 
Sank, and soon a slumber overcame him. 
B'lessed Francis, kneeling in the grasses. 
Prayed a silent prayer for water, water, — 
Crystal water, silver, laughing water, 
Water that should be to faith a signal. 
And at last the weary Brother wakened. 
And they rose together, looking downward. 
At their feet amid the stones upwelling 
Crystal water bubbled, laughed and sparkled. 
And the freshness to their lips they gathered. 
And they went their way with praising pulses. 

Here the shrine was set to mark the story. 
Honoured is my simple tongue to tell it. 
All is true. For, ladv, look: The Water! 



[41] 



FOREST FIRES 

O mother, I cannot sleep to-night. 
For the air blows thick from the dune. 
And through my window a glaring fright 
Peeps the blood-red face of the moon! 

Far from our village, little lad, 
The forest fires are raging. 
The fire-king hastens hard and mad. 
His furious battle waging. 

His doomful breath has every town. 
As through the distant mazes 
Of woodland green he rushes down, 
And scorches black the daisies. 

He gathers little homes and mills. 

He beats apart the bridges. 

And leaps the streams and climbs the hills 

And flames the mountain-ridges. 

Tall in the land sweet hosts of pines 
Are flanking close to daunt him. 
But he shall mow their million lines, 
And onward still shall vaunt him. 

All beauty smites he with liis hand. 
Himself its last beholder. 
Twice twenty miles of timberland 
Upon his pathway smoulder. 
[42] 



Look, mother, the world seems thirsting so! 
The day and the night are one. 
And over the gables leaning low 
The moon is as red as the sun! 

But ril draw together my curtains dark. 
And hack in my bed again 
ril pray me asleep, or, waking, hark 
For the sound of the conquering rain. 



[43] 



THE OLD IROQUOIS 

(Now the Colonial Theatre) 

By a new name they call the house to-day. 
The balconies of blood are gilded o'er. 
Tardy Precaution writes upon the curtain 
And lights a beacon-lamp at every door. 

Where are we? Who has told us all these 

things 
Dreaming within us, till we know and see? 
This is the Iroquois, the house of death. 
Here echoed one united agony. 
Muted how suddenly in char and ember. 
Here, in this very place. The walls remember. 

And bright the revel, now, and loud the laugh- 
ter. 
But what is yonder smayingy faltering host? 
Shall this gay vault give mirth alone hereafter? 
No! — Hark, the sobbing of a little ghost! 

House evermore to darken thought of man. 
Let some stern Azrael above your portal 
Attest the sacrifice ! Through all your aisles 
Let stanzas ring, born sounding and immor- 
tal ! — 
Ah, not the strident slang, the castanets ! 
Ah, not the long cheap laughter that forgets ! 

[44] 



DICKENS 

A TRIBUTE 

Who is the little quiet London drudge 
Plodding at eve through mist and misery, 
Warming his heart at the world's flickering 

fire? 
Who is the young recording wanderer, 
Threading, at some rare hour of liberty. 
The dim and narrow windings of the town. 
Where men and women pass and go their ways, 
Unconscious pictures of an art to be. 
And heeding not the ever heedful boy? 

It is one living in our midst to-day. 

If heaven accord us worthiness to know 

The radiant spirit shining at our threshold, 

Spirit immortal, childlike, of a man 

Who won the world with laughter and with 

tears. 
Whose pen, a sounding arrow, pierced the core 
Of evil and awoke a race from slumber 
To look with seeing e3'es upon oppression. 

Strong to draw healing from the haunts of pain. 
Out of the festering dark of circumstance 
He freed the little unextinguished lights. 
Brave to find beauty's form in all, he spied 
The blade of grass between the grimy cobbles. 

[45] 



His home the crowded street, the intricate by- 
way, 

Where he might lose or gain his fancy's crea- 
tures, 

His soul went forth, and, filled with plot and 
plan 

And weft of dreams that waited to be woven, 

Sought life's enigma, knew the subtle charm 

That lingers in a melancholy stair 

Forgotten feet have pressed, a moldering wall, 

A window touched by myriad unseen hands. 

Humanity was knocking at his heart. 

He flung it wide and showed the waiting store: 

A brook for sorrow's thirst, a loaf for hunger, 

A flowering staff for honour's deep emprise. 

Attuning every note to life's one music. 

Whether a tremulous delight, or sound 

Of minted coin that falls upon the granite, 

He wrought in kingly power to achieve 

Triumph of mercy and defeat of malice. 

Dear master, still he lives, who laid his hand 

With such a tenderness upon his time. 

He lives, with kindly ridicule and love 

To fight the buzzing fads of this our day 

And feed the sacred amphora of truth ! 

The pageant moves. The pictures are un- 

blurred. 
How in a chain of changes they survive ! — 
[46] 



For, while humanity endures, the past 
Confronts us with the types of what we are. 
The pageant moves. We watch the forms go 

by, 
And know them every one, the bright, the 

weary, 
Sun in the shadow, shadow in the sun. 

Ah ! well are we whom solitude may bring 
To dwell within the living page, or we 
Who in the throb of some vast audience 
Are gathered to the glowing heart of genius. 
Genius whose wide hope led to heights afar. 
Whereof the song of fame was not life's all. 
Nor death but the applause that cuts a cadence. 



[47] 



WAGNER 

In dull content 

The pallid lords in pallid houses pent 

Heard not, for they were deaf, nor felt the sun. 

Doors being none and windows being none, 

While he the edge of sham and envy braved, 

To rescue art from idols that enslaved. 

And through the dim 

Came barges floating on the air to him. 

In trailing robes, with jewelled glint and gleam, 

One after one the Northland guests of dream 

Set foot upon the stairway of his soul. 

Bearing the lamp, the cup, the runic scroll. 

Time's brooding nurse. 

He caught the clamour of the universe. 

The flower of life's inmost thought and plan. 

The love of woman, and the caravan 

Of things forever sought and never found, 

Till all the myth of man awoke in sound. 

High o'er the rills 

Flashes his temple from Bavarian hills. 
Green of the staffs, gold of the fiery song, — 
Deep was the darkness, deep and over long. 
But certain was the light. How could he fail, 
Who held within his hand the holy grail .^ 

[48] 



TO A POET 

He who leaves a glimmer of his soul 
In a bit of marble, in a song, 
He shall win the unseen aureole 
Set above the stars the ages long. 
And the fleeting import of his days 
Echoes of eternity shall praise. 

We of earth your mastery would hail, 
Iron hand that shook the gates of art. 
Crumpled rock to ridge's flowering trail. 
Yours, O feet that, following no chart. 
Found a future, or in spaces free 
Walked the winding floor of some old sea. 

Poet of life's ordinances deep, — 

Cities lying restless in the night,- 

Tossed and racked before they fall asleep,— 

Meadow-streams in peace of pale moonlight, 

We, the tossing city, we, the stream. 

Share your noble heritage of dream. 



[49] 



THE SPIRIT OF A CHILD 

When the morning broke 
Once the Child awoke, 
For the sun was on His breast — 
Such a little breast to hold 
Heaven's kingdom! In His nest 
Lay His treasures manifold: 
Rubies, miniver. 
Frankincense and myrrh. 
And an ocean's burnished shell. 
And His mother smiled to see 
All prophetic Israel 
Mirrored in His royalty. 

Warm, in winter wild 
Slumbered once the Child. 
And His dream, surpassing all. 
Measured not of any time, 
Was of roses mystical. 
And of lilies blown sublime, 

Roses rising fair ! 

Lilies white as prayer! 
Ah! Humanity well knows 
Of the garden and the gleam, 
And its consolation grows 
From the fragrance of the dream. 

So a Little Boy 
By His gift and toy 
[50] 



Woke and slept and woke again, 
As our children sleep and wake, 
And, without the manger, men 
Passed with sorrow and heartbreak, 

Weary, sad of brow. 

Even then, as now. 
Now, as then, repose is bought 
On a clamorous highway. 
Everywhere some Herod thought 
Seeks an infant truth to slay. 

Still at the soul's gate 

Thirst and hunger wait. 

Christmas dawn shall stay our tears! 

Still a host of sorrows mass 

At our doors. And through the years 

How they pass, and knock, and pass ! 

Near the Child that day 

Something unseen lay, 
Christmas dawn rememhereth! 
'Twas a crown of thorns foretold, 
By the dews of pain and death 
Changed into a crown of gold. 

Soul, your blossoms bring! 
Deck you for the Kingt 
Sea and mountain, leap elate. 
Knowing, symbols from afar. 
One was born to conquer fate. 
Born beneath an Eastern star. 
[51] 



And His realm is love, 
And His lamp a dove. 
War, let arrows rest unfiled f 
Peace, let pennons be unfurled ! 
For the Spirit of a Child 
Is the wonder of the world. 



[52] 



CHRISTMAS VOICES 

The daylight was a frozen thing. 

The way was long. 
A little child came carolling 

A Christmas song. 

" Child, sing no more of byre and cot," 

The woman said. 
*' Your song is old. The world needs not 

A story dead. 

" I seek new countries, leagues away. 

Now sing of them. 
The roads are leading far to-day 

From Bethlehem." 

No carol stirred. The child had passed. 

She hurried on. 
Her step was weary at the last, 

With daylight gone. 

Then down the dark and through the cold 

A radiance sprang. 
She heard another voice. Behold, 

An angel sang: 

" O woman, you must falter much. 

And travel far, 
To free your spirit from the touch 

Of wing and star ! " 

[53] 



CLOUD AND FLOWER 

I SAW the giant stalking to the sky, 

The giant cloud above the wilderness, 

Bearing a mystery too far, too high. 

For my poor guess. 

Away I turned me, sighing : " I must seek 

In lowlier places for the wonder-word. 

Something more little, intimate, shall speak.' 

A bright rose stirred. 

And long I looked into its face, to see 

At last some hidden import of the hour. 

And I had thought to turn from mystej'y — 
But O, flower ! flower I 



[54] 



THE SECRET 

Wild sea, forever far your secret slips 1 
I asked the rocks your story to rehearse, 
The rocks, that chronicle the universe. 
To tell me of the hidden power that whips 
Your vortices, and dooms the iron ships. 
But still your baffling mystery they nurse. 
For you were swift their silence to coerce 
With a great wave that covered up their lips. 

And still I marvel at your mastery. 

What is the end to which your moaning makes? 

What are the ages slow to change apart? 

Or are you helpless, ignorant as I, 

A little lonely child, who dreams and wakes 

And hears the lonely beat of your loud heart? 



[55] 



TO A GARRULOUS FRIEND 

Do not answer every lure. 
Learn of one forever sure, 
Winning through the sun or fog, 
Time, the hoary pedagogue. 

Time eternally discreet. 
Watchful of the moments fleet. 
For the long years teach us well 
What to hide and what to tell. 

Lavish words upon a day 
Fed your inmost soul away. 
It was broken for a feast. 
It was measured to the beast. 

Guard you from the over-glow. 
Be contented to forego. 
Leave the sound to him who strays, 
Too enamoured of the phrase. 

Wistful of the silent word 
In a thought unguessed, unheard. 
Greet the world in strength sublime 
And the reticence of Time. 



[56] 



A SONG OF TIME 

Woman, why are your eyes so wide, 
Gazing far where the dunes divide? 
Because to-morrom is not to-day. 
And the king rideth away. 

Woman, where is the bloom you bore? 
Caught in hand as he passed my door. 
And my work and I are growing gray. 
And the king rideth away. 

For he is king of the dune and lea. 
And he never will stop to hearten me. 
The dust rolls high, and the clouds roll gray. 
And the king rideth away. 



[57] 



TWO HOUSES \ 

] 

House of the past, house of the sunken stair, ^ 

In somnolence of long untrodden grass ! 
Tragedy, pleasure, sin have crossed your door. 
Your crumbling gables are no longer fair. 
And all the sigh of all the heaven may pass ! 

Along your desert floor. 

And you, the newly-builded, firmly set, 
Wide-hailed, with gleaming porch and peri- i 

style, ^ 

And windows clear to catch the sunlight's dole! 
What shall you say, O house of no regret. 
Proud in your vigour, but, alas the while, j 

Still waiting for your soul! ' 



rssi 



THE LOST RITUAL 

Beauty still wings from a star. 
Art struggles on through the cost. 
Ah, but the form is afar, 
And the line's ritual is lost ! 

Haply when havoc shall cease, 
And the long void of the day, 
We shall go back unto Greece, 
Raise up a statue, and pray. 



[59] 



LOVE'S VOICE 

** Dreamer ! " we cry to Love, who Love forego, 
Who walk our ways, nor catch an infinite gleam, 
Nor hear a voice through darkness calling: 

"No, 
Not I the dreamer ! Yours the empty dream ! " 



[60] 



RADIUM 

A FATEFUL youngling of the dark and drift, 
Unconscious of its goal, 
But giving, giving, eager with the gift, 
Exhaustless as the soul. 



[61] 



RESEARCH 

Alone, afar from mortal loves and hates, 
Pre-dating creed and church. 
Stands Truth, the secret marble that awaits 
The chiselling hand, Research. 



[62] 



VICTORY * 

I PASSED her bed of cyclamen, 
And swifter hurried, passing it. 
I could not say God bless her, then^ 
Lest God should guess me hypocrite. 

God bless her! I have said the thought. 
The fragrant crown is on her head. 
The golden steeple-bells have wrought 
Their gladdest. She is gone to wed. 



* Copyright by J. B. Lippincott Company, 1904. 

[63] 



A SONG 

Love glided room to room, 
Wistful with flower and flame. 

And the dial forgot 

In a tangle of bloom. 
But we never knew his name. 

Love poured us music's vow 
More sweet than viola's. 

But we cherished him not 

As we cherish him now, 
When we know what his dear name was. 



[64] 



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